Fatty Bobsticks

Diary

At the great Buddhist temple in Kyoto, Fatty Bobsticks knelt before the incense, trying to look like a man of discipline instead of a man who once ate an entire grilled mackerel out of spite, bones and all, just to prove he wasn't Fat Bob and never would be. The monks chanted, the smoke curled, and somewhere between enlightenment and asphyxiation Fatty turned purple, clawing at his own throat while insisting through gasps that this was a spiritual experience, not a medical one. A novice finally whacked him on the back hard enough to launch the offending bone clear across the tatami, and Fatty rose gasping, triumphant, shouting that he'd stared death in the face and death had blinked first, unlike Fat Bob, who apparently just naps through everything. He vowed right there, still wheezing, to finally get his life together, meditate daily, eat mindfully, stop measuring himself against a shadow, then immediately ordered three more skewers of fish to celebrate surviving the first ones. The monks simply bowed, used to men who flirt with death and marry chaos instead, and Fatty walked out sore-throated, unenlightened, and somehow prouder than ever to be nobody's sequel but his own disaster.